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The river of blood stretched through the darkness.

It was different than water. Thicker. Heavier. When it crashed against the walls, it did not make the natural sound of a stream. There were gurgles and thrums, constant sloshing heaves. Every surface had developed a crust of coagulation, and every pile of debris seemed to spurt out from the miasma like reeds in a marsh. If Sadik closed his eyes, and ignored the overwhelming smell of iron, he could imagine that he was sailing up the Syran river, journeying to the upper cataracts where the waters became calm, thick, and lush with life.

He opened his eyes. Dozens of skeletons peeked through the blood. Somewhere in the city, a mass grave had leeched into the sewers, dragging hundreds of bodies down through the pipes. Bony arms collected in the rubble. Skulls floated through the scarlet waves, their faces locked in screams.

The Sons of Sorrow continued into the dark.

They had built five wooden skiffs for the infiltration team. Each boat held twenty men, and all were aligned in single file in order to squeeze through the narrow maze of the storm drains. Through most of the sewers, Sadik’s men had not used their oars for propulsion—instead, the oars had been employed in dislodging obstacles. The rubble of buildings, the broken sections of tunnel, the rotting mounds of trash and flotsam that always accrued beneath a city. They had frequently been forced to stop whenever a new obstruction appeared, as there was little room to maneuver. All barriers had to be smashed.

Through it all, the blood continued to churn. It flowed with a dull, heavy pace, carrying the Sons deeper beneath the earth. Sadik imagined that he was sailing through the veins of a colossal creature, waiting for the moment when he could stab it in the heart. His hands clenched into fists.

No one spoke. The only sound was the weighted gurgle of blood, a few sucking spurts of air as the waves sloshed along the curving walls. Everyone knew the stakes.

Somewhere above their heads, the Lord of Bones was invading the city of Acheron. Riders of the Kesunae were burning the streets. Every garrison would be scrambling to muster, and the gods of the pantheon would be arriving in chariots of light and fire, smashing down from the Neheamatt in a rain of holy seeds. Meanwhile, the Sons of Sorrow would be trying to assist a new tide of refugees pouring in from the walls, ushering the souls into safehouses and underground shelters. In all likelihood, they would be overwhelmed with the tide of bodies. Sadik could not hear any sign of the pandemonium occurring on the surface, but he could imagine the sound quite well.

Screaming. Wailing. Rage and fear. Thousands upon thousands.

It was all his fault. His order. His command.

He was leaning against the starboard edge of the skiff, his arms folded, his long black hair loosely tied into a braid. He had returned to his human form, staunchly refusing any manner of augmentation for the mission ahead. While most of the Sons around him had been reinforced with metal skin and layered muscle, Sadik had stayed pure. His skin was clean, his tattoos were bright, and his armor had been polished to a mirror shine. He carried nothing but the broken blade of the Vizier and a lifetime of experience. It would be enough.

Everything felt different now. His mind was keenly aware of every sensation. The waves of the river, the faces of his men, the feeling of wood beneath his fingers. Even the stench of blood carried some measure of interest. Sadik paid attention to everything around him, taking every morsel of detail he could find.

There was a comfort in knowing the time of your death. A serenity. Every sensation became precious.

His only hope—the only thing he allowed himself to want—would be one last dance with Faustine. Once they entered the palace, the caracal would seek him out. She would take every chance to fight him alone, where none would interfere. He would not deny it to her. If possible, he would travel to the life tanks that allowed her to return after every death, and he would slaughter all the clones she had created. No more resurrections. No more mimics. Permanent death.

There was a memory of a woman. A soldier under his command. A friend standing by his side. A quiet, timid smile.

He saw her standing in Hisana’s chambers. In one hand, a curved sword dripping with blood. In the other, a squirming mass of intestines. A head rolling across the floor. An angry, spiteful laugh.

Sadik clenched his fists. A fire grew in his soul.

“Sir?”

He turned his head. Amira was sitting opposite him on the skiff, a bloody oar resting on her lap. Like the rest of the men, she had donned a dark green vest and trousers, which would allow her to blend into the gardens of Kohav Yaran. She had retained most of her leopard anatomy, and her greatbow remained slung around her torso, the trophies of fallen sandwyrms appearing grisly next to the river of blood.

“What’s peckin’ your mind?” she asked.

Sadik returned his gaze to the bloody, curving walls. “You can guess.”

“Sure you can tell me, too.”

He shook his head, not bothering to answer.

Behind them, Kavaia sat on the stern of the skiff, her long snout resting on her knees. Like Sadik, she had insisted on returning to her original form—myrtle scales, saffron-yellow eyes. She wore a grim expression, a dark green suit of padded armor, and a sunspear that seemed little more than a fire poker in her hands. Due to her size, five men had to be moved forward to maintain the balance of the ship.

They had not spoken since the previous day. If Sadik was being honest, he had done his best to avoid her. She was watching his every move, always finding a way to hover by his side. The tension was as thick as the blood.

He didn’t know why he had confessed to her. She could warn the others. She could attempt to spoil his sacrifice. Most importantly, she could succumb to the same despair that was afflicting him. The person she had clung to, the man who had given her warmth and succor in a time of need, was going to die. How was that different than him and Hisana?

He wished he did not feel regret.

“Hoi,” Amira said, thumping the boat with her paw. “Sunsucker. What’s got your cock in a knot?”

Sadik did not look at her. “It would be easier to list the things that are not bothering me.”

“Feel free to share.”

“Amira, how is the mission proceeding?”

She glanced ahead. At the next skiff, a dozen men were attempting to knock a broken sluice gate from its hinges. “Tight as a whore’s cunt, sir. About as clean, too.”

“Excellent,” Sadik said. “If that’s the case, why don’t we consider this a time for quiet reflection?”

“You gonna pray to a god? Ain’t you sweet on this one?”

“Quiet reflection.”

Amira snorted. “So, tell me, sir, is it true you Luminous sorts like to suck up sunlight like all them flowery plants? Could I toss some shit and water in your lap? Make you green and happy?”

Sadik did not answer. The sounds of clanging metal echoed through the storm drain.

“Well, hey, who knows, right? Not like we get one of them shiny boys aboard. They’re just toy soldiers, so I heard. Only good for parades.”

“Amira,” Kavaia said. “Would you shut your mouth?”

Amira shifted back against the edge of the vessel. “Come again?”

“He doesn’t need your blathering.” Kavaia’s tail began to flex. “None of us do.”

“Oh, it’s ‘us’, is it? You one of the men now?”

“I am risking my life, same as you.”

At the front of the vessel, a dozen Sons glanced between each other. All of them had been watching Kavaia since the start of the voyage, and they gripped their weapons tighter at the sound of her voice. For centuries, every soul in Acheron had learned to fear her presence.

The goddess of death. The Jade Demon.

Amira faced the crocodile, her leopard ears beginning to flatten. “I’ll say what I want, exile. Why don’t you sit back in your corner?”

“Why don’t you show some proper respect?” Kavaia said. “He is your superior officer. Your leader. There was a time in this city where common soldiers respected authority.”

“Aw, yeah, and there were a time when the gods just did their magic and fucked off. I’m missin’ it more and more.”

Kavaia leaned forward. The shift in weight was felt across the skiff. “Sadik has displayed more honor and loyalty than any of the gods. He will have statues carved in his name. You lack the most basic propriety if you think it wise to sit here and insult him.”

“Kavaia,” Sadik said. “Stop.”

All eyes on the skiff turned to him—crocodile, leopard, every man at the front. A short distance away, several soldiers continued to smash a sluice gate with their oars. The air began to fill with flakes of rust.

“Amira has earned the right to speak as she does.” Sadik offered a sideways look. “She’s saved my life countless times.”

Amira shrugged. “Other way around, too. He ain’t awful with a sword.”

“Fortunately, she is more elegant with a bow than she is with her words. Only reason I’ve kept her around, in truth.”

“Breakin’ my heart, sir. Tears in my eyes.”

“You deserve worse.”

She gave him a wide, toothy grin.

Sadik shifted himself against the gunwale, facing Kavaia. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to her candor. It becomes tolerable after the first decade.”

“You deserve kinder words,” Kavaia said.

“I don’t need you to defend me.”

She stiffened. The entire boat felt the movement. Ahead, the forward vessel finally managed to batter their way through the sluice gate, sending it clattering off its hinges. The blood began to flow with the speed of molten metal.

“Well,” Kavaia said, “if you lack the will to help yourself, then I will do it instead.”

Sadik frowned. “Are you calling me a coward?”

“I am telling you that I know the burden of duty.” Her eyes glimmered in the dim light. “Without relief, duty will drive a man to oblivion. Will it not?”

“. . . I suppose.”

To the side, Amira was watching the exchange with a raised brow and perked ears.

“Sadik,” Kavaia said. “You defended me, when I needed it most. I will not forget that.”

He watched her for a moment, a dozen replies dancing on his tongue. Eventually, he turned away. Her gaze smoldered along his back, and her thick, spiny tail slithered across the walkway of the skiff, giving several agitated jerks. Even facing away, she was impossible to ignore.

The boats continued on, carried by the river of blood. Sadik could feel the density of the liquid by the way they slithered across its surface. It stuck together like paste, forming into froth and scum. It slammed into the walls, sucking down through drainage gates and diverting corridors, coating every surface in a sickly red.

He tried to guess where they were beneath the city. Kohav Yaran was growing closer, but the path the Sons had to sail was winding and long, frequently taking them through turns and intersections. More than once, they were forced to divert themselves into an alternate river when they found their path obstructed by fallen debris and mounds of trash. Already, they must have travelled through miles of dark, pungent tunnels.

He had no idea where they were. It didn’t matter. He could feel the palace growing closer, the same way one can feel it in their heart when home is drawing near. His hands began to sweat. His heart continued to thunder.

The time was fast approaching.

As they ventured on, Amira began to keep a watchful eye on Sadik. He had fallen victim to her stare before, and he knew exactly what it meant. She was on to him. With Kavaia at his back, he felt cornered against the side of the skiff, forced to look out at the rolling blood in order to avoid any lingering eyes. Even the men at the front were beginning to cast glances in his direction, sensing tension through the blood-soaked air.

Amira knew him too well. She had already guessed his real intentions, back when he first returned. She would figure out exactly what he planned to do at the palace.

Another soul disappointed. Another mark on his grave.

A rumbling shook the sewers. Curtains of dust trickled from the cracks above. Somewhere in the tunnels behind them, there came a sound of crashing, full of rending metal and heaving blood, like a building had collapsed down through the foundations. Sadik guessed there had been an explosion on the surface. One of the Kesunae planting a bomb? A sunspear pierced in the heat of battle, expunging its energy in a fiery sphere? Perhaps it was one of the gods, wreathed in light, adorned in golden armor, screaming through the sky in one of Aldunya’s seeds, ready to slaughter hundreds by the points of their spears.

Sadik closed his eyes. Almost on instinct, he began to pray. He tried to imagine Ilios in his mind, the falcon god who had once wielded the might of the sun beneath his wings—instead, he saw a broken corpse displayed above the entrance of the pantheon. Flayed skin, a shattered beak, dried lakes of blood. Desecration. Heresy.

His city was in flames. His gods were traitors. Even the Neheamatt, source of all life in the desert, had fallen victim to the plague. How could he possibly change anything?

Another explosion shook the sewers. Quivers ran through the blood.

Sadik opened his eyes. The vow of the Luminous Path died on his lips. He gazed absently along the curving walls of the sewage tunnel, feeling an emptiness blossom in his chest.

What was the point?

“Hoi, sir,” Amira said. “You remember the time you shit yourself in battle?”

Sadik took a deep breath.

The leopard sat forward on her seat. “Oh, I bet none of you ramil heard this tale, have ya? Most of you lot never touched a spear ‘fore now.”

Half a dozen men shook their heads. Sadik noticed that the soldiers on the skiff behind them were also paying attention. Whispers echoed in the dark.

“Well, then,” Amira said, grinning wide. “T’was two score prior, if I got my years correct. We were out in the desert, right, furthest we could be without our mods meltin’ off the bone, and Sir Sunsucker here decided—”

Kavaia’s tail thumped against Amira’s seat. It nearly tilted the vessel. “Enough. I will give you a reason to defecate, if you continue.”

Amira snickered. Several men joined her.

The crocodile grew embarrassed. “You know my meaning. Fear.”

“Oh, sure. Already drippin’ brown.”

Kavaia’s throat began to bulge.

“Look,” Amira said. “We had a game, back in the army. Whoever got Sadik to smile earned a pot of debens. We’d go years without seeing the slightest crack on him. Men tried every method under the sun.” She turned to Sadik. “Always was a sour sort, our captain. Always had a frown deeper than a canyon.”

“I wonder why,” Sadik said.

The leopard turned to Kavaia. “Just playin’ an old game, goddess. Reminding Sadik here of better times. You get me?”

Kavaia shifted her gaze between leopard and human. After a moment, she leaned back in her seat. “Very well. I would enjoy hearing of his incontinence, then.”

“You mean blasting shit like a fountain?”

“I prefer my wording.”

Amira’s smile returned. “Right, so, as I was sayin’, we were out in the desert. City had just repelled an attack by a bunch of Shiy Suax marauders, and we’d been sent as part of a counteroffensive. Rushed the fuck out into the wastes, quick and easy, in and out. Course, as it happens, the Shiy decide to—”

“Halt! Halt!” a man shouted ahead. “Stop the boat!”

The skiff at the head of the line slammed their oars into the blood. Panicked voices echoed down the tunnel.

“Turn back! Turn back!”

“Ancestors preserve!”

Immediately, Sadik got to his feet, gazing over the heads of his men.

Ahead, the sewer tunnel had been completely subsumed by the Metal Plague. Dozens of blisters had sprouted along the walls—in the circular shape of the tunnel, their bulbous forms and sharp protrusions gave the appearance of human teeth unevenly spread through a mouth. Sagging vines connected the blisters, feeding various liquids, and thin, red stalks descended from the ceiling like a sea of reeds, swaying back and forth despite the lack of wind. Behind it all, a wall of brown flesh had sealed off the tunnel, its gruesome curtains twitching like an orifice. The river of blood had been halted by the fleshy wall—instead of flowing further, it pooled through the blisters and rot, churning upon itself, coating every surface in a dripping red.

The Sons lost discipline. On the first skiff, some tried to use their oars to retreat back up the tunnel, while others abandoned their posts and fled to the rear of the vessel. The air filled with gasps and screams. Sadik could see that some were close to diving into the blood, ready to swim for their lives.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Hold position!”

Most of his men stopped. A few dove into the river, swimming through the flow of blood. Sadik watched the plague with a sharp eye. For all he knew, there were people gestating in the blisters, ready to ooze from their metal wombs. Agents of infection.

“You said this tunnel was clear,” Sadik said.

“It was,” Amira replied, her leopard ears folded flat. “Checked it yesterday. Plague works fast.”

“Is there another route?”

She quickly dug through her supply pouch, producing a folded map. “Not a quick one. It’d take us hours to reach the secondary.”

“We don’t have that kind of time.”

“Don’t got time to die, neither.”

Sadik tightened his lips into a line. After a moment, he began to move forward. “Wait here.”

“Sadik,” Kavaia said, her voice low and warning.

He moved to the front of his skiff. By now, the river of blood had carried his vessel close to the front of the line, easily within jumping distance. Sadik leaped between the skiffs, knocking aside the men who gathered at the stern when he landed. He gave some small reassurances as he squeezed through the various species and body mods, continuing on his path towards the plague wall. When he reached the front of the skiff, the sergeant in command gave him a wide-eyed stare.

“You might want to step back,” Sadik said, pulling Dusksong from her sheath.

The brown-furred jackal scrambled away. Sadik placed his foot on the very tip of the prow, attempting to brace himself as much as possible. He twisted the haft of his sword. Raw energy boiled at the broken mouth, bulging into a sphere.

He aimed carefully at the fleshy orifice, trying to find the spot that would cause the most structural damage. A part of his mind warned him that firing at the Metal Plague might unleash a cloud of spores. Another part told him that, if they were late in assaulting the palace, the Kesunae’s attack would fail, and every man under his command would be hunted by the gods in retaliation.

No matter what, death would find him.

Something happened. Just as Sadik was about to fire, the plague began to squirm. Blisters shuddered along the walls, the organic wombs deflating inside the skeleton. Vines sagged from their perches, spewing a black ichor into the river of blood. In the center of the tunnel, the fleshy orifice began to peel open, in a manner that Sadik could only compare to digging one’s fingers through the rind of an orange. There were squelches and tears. In less than a minute, the plague had retreated from the tunnel walls. The river of blood gushed forward, surging into the space ahead.

A sigh bled through the concrete. It was wordless, ancient beyond reckoning. If one listened carefully, it sounded like a forest of leaves swaying in a gentle breeze.

“Aldunya!” Kavaia shouted.

The rustling grew louder. Outside the tunnel, there was a rumbling quake, strong enough to send a tremble through the river of blood. All of the Sons were gazing around them in wonder, trapped in a mixture of fear and awe.

“What is she saying?” Sadik shouted.

Kavaia tilted her head. By now, the rustling had begun to wax and wane, moving in a short, repetitive pattern. “Continue. That is all she speaks, over and over. Continue.” Kavaia gazed out at the wall, as if she might find the tendrils of the great tree slithering beyond the concrete. “She is pained.”

Sadik could hear it, too. There was a desperate insistence beneath the sighs, like a man lifting a heavy weight to allow others passage. How much strength was this costing her?

There was still a ways to go before reaching the palace. And, at the edge of the torchlight, Sadik could see more plague festering inside the tunnel. Spikes of metal, glistening fluids, a few undulating movements slithering on the edge of visibility. If he listened closely, he could hear whispers. Voices. He realized that, somewhere in the darkness, a child was crying. If he ever found the source, it would not be a child any longer.

Should he trust Aldunya? Yesterday, she had participated in Rushan’s ceremony. She had allowed many gods to fall before the jackal’s schemes. She was sick and dying, yes, but the great tree had a mind vaster than the mountains. Her decisions were made with centuries of foresight. How could he be sure the chaos was not intentional?

Ilios was her mistake!

The Sons of Sorrow looked to him for a decision. In truth, there was no other choice.

Sadik raised Dusksong above his head. The broken sword glowed a bright yellow, bathing the tunnel in light. “Aldunya protects us! We carry the light of the stars!”

The men cheered. They were quiet at first, clearly caught off-guard by the plague and the personal attention of the Neheamatt. But, as the light of Dusksong danced in their eyes, and the men found bravery in the friends around them, the voices grew louder. Fists were raised. Prayers were shouted. By the end, Sadik stood at the head of a roaring army.

He stepped down from the prow of the skiff, eyeing the sergeant of the vessel. “Take her forward. Slowly.”

The jackal nodded, giving a quick salute. Sadik moved to the end of the skiff, leaped across the boats, and returned to his seat by Amira and Kavaia, dodging the shafts of oars as his men began to row. Without much delay, they continued into the tunnel, moving past husks of flesh and the mottled remnants of metal.

“Fuck me,” Amira said. “Thought you might’ve been jokin’ about the tree.”

Sadik rested Dusksong across his lap, running a hand along her chips and cracks. “Don’t thank me yet.”

The skiffs continued on. Further down the tunnel, growths of plague leered from the dark. Sadik could only compare the sight to the mouth of a crosham, a species of aquatic worm that survived by sucking the blood of other fish. They possessed long, toothy, funnel-like mouths designed to suck and undulate whenever they attached to their victims. Sadik had pulled many off his flesh before, usually after a swim in the Syran river, and the sight of their gruesome mouths had always given him a feeling of unease.

The feeling returned to him now. Metal blisters coated the ceiling and walls, their outer skeletons as sharp as teeth. Mounds of flesh crawled across every surface, oozing ichor and melted skin. Occasionally, rats could be seen scurrying across the gory landscape, leaping from sections of raw, jutting metal, engorging themselves on half-rotten meat. Parasites upon parasites. Everything squirmed and bled.

As the Sons continued, the plague receded before them. Flesh melted into ooze. Metal lattices broke into shards. Occasionally, one of the blisters would pop, the sound echoing down the tunnel, and a misshapen body would slump into the river of blood. Most were half-formed. Twisted and bent. Mouths where there should be arms, teeth where there should be organs. A fever dream of a person.

Sadik kept his sword ready. All the men had raised their spears, sunbeams trickling in wait. Everyone flinched at the slightest sound.

“Right,” Amira said. “As I was sayin’, sir, you shit yourself in battle. Remember?”

“Stars above, Miri, pick another time.”

She slung a wyrmkiller into her lap, running a finger along the fletching. “Nah, nah, trust me, there’s a point I’m gettin’ at.”

He gave her a very stern look.

“So,” Amira said, loud enough that most of the boats could hear. “We were out in the desert. Shiy marauders. Right?” A wall of flesh shuddered behind her, like it was trying to breathe. “For some reason, the Shiy decide that they ain’t beat, and they dig in hard. Use the canyons as cover for skirmishes. Rootin’ them out’s like digging lice from an asscrack.”

Aldunya sighed again. There was a note of straining in her windy voice. Kavaia’s expression grew concerned.

“We’re sitting out in the wastes, doing nothing, ‘cause we’re surrounded by nothing, and nothing’s coming our way. ‘Course, we ain’t allowed to break camp. After a while, things get filthy.” Amira raised a finger, smirking. “Water goes bad. Sittin’ out in the sun too long. Half the regiment comes down with dysentery, including our shining leader.”

Sadik watched a series of spheres flow through one of the sagging vines, like a mother lizard laying a clutch of eggs. After a moment, he realized they were skulls.

“One morning, I come down to the latrine, as you do, and I see Sadik down in the pits, just flinging his guts left and right. Havin’ a miserable time of things.”

“Happens to everyone,” Sadik said.

“Oh, sure,” Amira replied. “Me as well. Rather spectacular in your case, though. See, while you were breaking water that fine morning, the Shiy decide to attack. Full assault outta nowhere. Riding their mounts, screaming out the hills, whole thing and a half.”

She stood up on the skiff, gazing out at the rest of the men. Some averted their eyes from the plague in order to watch her. Around her, human mouths stretched across a wall of flesh, gnashing at the air.

“So what’s Sadik do?” Amira asked. “Why, he buckles his armor, grabs his spear, and goes fucking runnin’ towards the enemy. I see this man charge out into the flats, his legs coated in shit, leaving a muddy trail every which way he goes, and I see him damn near personally break the Shiy’s charge. Looked like a demon. Fought like a god. By day’s end, he’s still out there, mopping up the stragglers with his bronze armor turned extra brown.”

She looked down at Sadik, her leopard tail flicking against the edge of her bow.

“Strange to say, but that was the moment I knew he was worth his command.” She gestured at Sadik, looking at all the men. “This was a man I could rely on, no matter what. This was a man who was one of the best, even at his worst. He’d let nothing in the whole fucking world stop him from doin’ his duty. I mean, shit, he just parted the plague with a wave of his sword, and now he’s only sitting there, like it weren’t no bother.”

Sadik felt dozens of gazes fall upon him. He looked around, saw Kavaia staring at him as well, and turned away.

“And that,” Amira said, “is why I’m not scared of this here battle. City in flames, gods and plague? Nah, don’t you worry a bit. We still got Sadik on our side. He’ll see us right. He always has.” She shrugged. “Even if he needs a cork up the ass.”

One by one, the Sons began to salute him, placing a closed fist atop their heart. Many were not soldiers—they were farmers, miners, and craftsmen, people who had never once held a weapon before the Demokrats took power. If Sadik had still been serving in the palace, he would’ve been appalled at the state of their training. But he was not at the palace, and these were not soldiers. They were the best he could hope to find.

He stared at the retreating masses of plague, ignoring everyone. A part of him was furious. A part of him wanted to disappear and never be seen again. Somewhere else, a part of him was trying desperately not to cry.

They continued on. The river gurgled. The men rowed. Progress was made. For Sadik, time passed in a swirling haze.

He felt a hand clamp on his shoulder, gripping the armor tight. He did not need to look to see who it was.

“Sir,” Amira said, her voice whispering in his ear. “Are we going to have a problem?”

He didn’t answer.

She shook his kepresh. “Are we going to have the same problem that made you disappear for a couple days? Because I meant that speech. Every word.” She leaned closer. “I’d hate to be proven wrong.”

Sadik gripped the edge of the skiff.

“You can talk to me, ya stubborn bastard. You ain’t alone in this.”

He forced himself to look at her. She may have been wearing the face of a leopard, but he could still see the same woman he had known for decades behind the feline eyes. No amount of Glimmer would erase who she was.

“Well?” Amira asked. “Gonna say something?”

“Shore ahead!” a sergeant shouted. “Everyone off!”

Sadik stood up, shrugged off her hand, and made his way to the front of the vessel.

The river of blood ended with a trickle. A great quantity of dirt, collected from across the city and washed through miles of tunnel, had formed hills and mounds at the end of the sewer line, eventually terminating in a thick, mulchy beach. The Sons were already rowing furiously to land their crafts upon solid ground. Ahead, the sewer tunnel ended in a yawning darkness, where a faint wind curled back in greeting.

Sadik was the first to disembark. His sandals sank through the bloody dirt, instantly burying him to the ankle. With a grimace, he trudged and sucked his way to the end of the beach, holding Dusksong above his head. Her light shined through blood and darkness.

The sewer tunnel opened into a vast expanse, a cavernous chamber so large that it might’ve rivaled the Neheamatt’s trunk in size. This was the place where all the drainage paths in the district converged. It was cylindrical in shape, its diameter easily the length of several city blocks—with Sadik’s unmodified eyes, he could barely glimpse the opposite wall through the darkness.

But what truly made the construction awe-inspiring was not its length, but its depth—the chamber had no visible floor, save for a series of bridges spanning its length. There was nothing but a chasm before him, and it stretched for a dizzying distance into the earth. It seemed so deep that, when Sadik leaned out into the dark, he was convinced that he would be staring into the very core of the planet. Around the circumference of the chamber, rivers of blood gushed from various tunnels, forming into a scarlet mist as they fell. There was no sound of their landing.

He realized, all at once, that the wind on his face had not come from the surface. The chamber was so vast that it had formed its own weather. Out in the dark, it was raining water. He had almost forgotten the sight.

Only the ancestors could have built this place.

“Sir,” said the jackal sergeant, approaching from behind. “Should we cross?”

There was a metal bridge stretching out into the chasm, supported by hooks and wires attached to the ceiling above. If Sadik squinted his eyes, he could see several more bridges branching off into a simple network, leading to the various tunnels around the circumference of the chamber.

The path to Kohav Yaran was straight ahead. Dead center. All the men would have to do is walk in a line.

He was almost home.

“Hold a moment!” Kavaia trudged up the bloody beach. When she reached Sadik’s side, she turned her back to the chasm, looking at all the gathered men. “I assume those who rowed the boats are tired and sore. Allow me a touch of the shoulder. I can return your strength to you.”

Dozens of men glanced between each other. After a moment, they turned their attention to Sadik, as if awaiting his order.

“She is telling the truth,” Sadik said. “Any who come will be refreshed.”

There was more hesitation. Whispering, shakes of the head, a few barely restrained curses. Eventually, a lone hippo stepped forward, looking timid despite her bulk and size. Kavaia took a knee upon the dirt and, with gentle care, placed a hand on the soldier. Immediately, the hippo straightened her posture, letting out a surprised gasp. The contact between god and mortal lasted only a few moments, but, from the sounds that were made, it had a significant effect.

“Oh, my!” She placed a fist over her heart and bowed to Kavaia, her movements coming with renewed vigor. “Thank you, goddess!”

Kavaia nodded. Sadik noticed a wince pass through her face, as if she had taken a few punches.

A system was established. Men formed a line, stepped forward to receive Kavaia’s touch, and continued on to the bridge ahead. Some of the Sons avoided her, giving a wide berth as they moved toward the rally point, but many took the chance for relief, and none were disappointed. The chamber began to echo with the sound of talk and prayer. Knowing the conditions they lived in, Sadik guessed they had been relieved of more than just exhaustion. Hunger, disease, lack of sleep—all of it vanished with a touch.

Eventually, Kavaia merely kept her hand raised, allowing the soldiers to place themselves in her grip. By the halfway point, she was leaning heavily on her knees, forced to close her eyes in concentration. By the end, she was gasping for air, nearly collapsing into the muck and blood. The last soldier—a falcon archer with three eyes—thanked her profusely and ran to join her squad.

Amira stepped forward. With a pained grunt, Kavaia raised her hand.

“I’m dandy, thanks,” Amira said. “Save some for yourself.”

Kavaia nodded, unable to speak. Amira gave Sadik a hard look, made a noise in her throat, and began to cross the bridge, slinging her greatbow into hand. For a few moments, Sadik waited on the beach, watching the crocodile tremble with exhaustion.

“Goddess,” he said. “Do you . . . need assistance?”

There was a deep rumbling. Suddenly, Kavaia grabbed him by the shoulder, her grip almost strong enough to bend his armor. As Sadik struggled to escape, pure relief flooded through his body, washing aches as easily as water. Slowly, never relaxing her hold, the goddess of death rose back to her feet, still swaying with the pain of a hundred men. She towered more than a cubit above his head.

“I am not weak,” she said, her snout lined with teeth.

“I didn’t think you were.”

“You’ve seen me grovel for far too long. That will not continue.”

“. . . if you say so, goddess.”

They stared at each other. A gentle breeze blew between them, carrying the smell of sewage and blood. Her grip was tight on his shoulder, and her eyes beat down on him like twin rays of sunlight.

“Do you need assistance?” Kavaia asked, voice low and pointed. “Is there suffering yet untaken?”

Her touch had completely renewed his body. He felt as if, in a matter of seconds, he had been granted a feast and several days of rest. “I am much better now. Thank you.”

“Is there nothing else I can offer?”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

“Dig deep within yourself. Be certain.” She leaned above him. “You only have to ask.”

“I’m aware.”

Rain pattered against metal bridges. Waterfalls roared into open darkness.

“Kavaia,” Sadik said. “You can let go of me now.”

Her hand remained on his shoulder, a heartbeat pulsing into scaled bronze. A rumbling passed through her chest. She released her grip, pulling the sunspear she had been issued from the muck of the beach.

“You lead,” she said, gesturing to the bridge spanning the chasm. “I will follow.”

On instinct, he almost rebuked her for giving him an order, as he had done to many men in the past. A look in her eye brought him to silence. There was a fury in her gaze, stoked with a deep sense of betrayal, and he could not bring himself to meet it for long. He looked away. Shame burned across his face.

Another disappointment. More broken things.

Nothing would ever be right again.

He made his way to the bridge. It was little more than a rusted catwalk, its handles long since melted into uselessness by the rain clouds gathering above. When Sadik stepped upon the metal, it gave a bellowing groan, as if warning him away. He placed his full weight upon the bridge, continuing forward. The rest of his men were already halfway across the chasm, and they had not reported an issue with the structure. He would be fine. Besides, he didn’t care.

He walked. Rain fell on his face. A gentle breeze brushed his skin, carrying the scent of ancient things. Below, the chasm yawned at his feet, its darkness so absolute that it seemed a solid object. Once he’d travelled a good distance from the beach, Sadik began to hold Dusksong out in front of him, hoping to use the weapon as a balance point. One wrong step, and he would fall for nearly a mile.

He couldn’t believe the depth of this chamber. Every sound echoed down its length, and the waterfalls gushing from the chamber walls seemed to vanish into nothingness, as if swallowed by a void. The chasm must have led straight down to the Foundations, back to the earliest layers of Acheron’s history, when the ancestors were still alive. None of the technology mines had ever come close to reaching it.

Ahead, the Sons had already reached the other end of the chamber, gathering at the beginning of a corridor which would lead into the secret tunnels below Kohav Yaran. Squads were formed, weapons were checked. Amira had pulled the various sergeants into a ring, instructing them on tactics and objectives.

Sadik quickened his pace. But, as he moved, he began to feel something below him. A pulse in the air. A prickle on his skin.

He looked down into the chasm. For a moment, all he could see was darkness, a distance so vast that none but Aldunya could fathom it. Nothing appeared. There was only wind and rain.

Then, all at once, Sadik noticed a small point of light. It was very faint, less than a single star in the night sky, but unmistakable. Faintly round, shaded a cerulean blue, like the high city walls. A light from the darkness. A signal from the ancestors?

Kavaia stopped behind him. “Sadik?”

“Do you see that?”

He pointed. She squatted down, bringing herself to head height. Both of them stared into the black.

“Yes,” she said, breathing out. “Faith preserve.”

“It’s coming from the Foundations.”

“That can’t be right. Surely.”

None had entered the Foundations for millennia. There was more than a mile of vertical depth to traverse, and the path was strewn with ancient ruins and hordes of demons—those who attempted to gain entrance had been butchered by the shapeshifting monsters. Most importantly, the site was considered holy ground. The Neheamatt had forbidden all entrance on pain of blasphemy and treason. Even the gods were forced to stay away.

“I hear something,” Kavaia said.

Sadik listened. If he held his breath, he could feel the beginnings of sound. Heavy thrums. Clashes, slams. A steady pulse. It almost sounded like the crash of waves upon a beach, a low rumbling occasionally broken by a louder roar. Somehow, it all felt wrong. Unnatural.

He focused on the light. Suddenly, he could see the tracings of movement. Nothing was ever clear, but Sadik could swear that the darkness around the blue light was churning, shifting back and forth, occasionally broken by flickers of . . . something. He stared at the light, hoping to see more. It was then that he realized the light itself was moving. It quivered and bulged, always pulsing in a steady pattern. Like a beating heart.

“The plague,” Sadik said.

The noises fell into place. He remembered the moans of the infected. The braying of the horde as they ran through the streets, running down any victim they could find. He had witnessed the nights of cleansing, when hundreds had been slaughtered in the name of quarantine, and the sounds coming from the Foundations were all too similar.

The Metal Plague had found its way into the lowest depths of the city. It had formed a nexus, a colossal mockery of a heart. And something was fighting against it.

“This explains much,” Sadik said. “When the plague first appeared, everyone assumed it would overrun the city in a matter of days. Nothing could stop the spores. But, somehow, it never did. It remained behind barricades, building structures out of people and sending the rest below ground.” He gestured to the chasm. “That is where they went.”

Kavaia had a distant look in her eye. “Aldunya was slowing the spread. The gods were squabbling for weeks while she struggled. If she had told us what was occurring. . . .”

“Her roots go deep beneath the earth.”

“Yes. This is the center of the struggle. This is how she was infected.”

“Hoi!” Amira waved from the other side of the chamber. “What’s the fuckin’ wait? Get over here!”

Sadik and Kavaia glanced at each other. Both their expressions were sober.

While a war raged on the surface, another was being fought below. A virulent plague, melding men into metal, spreading with chaotic speed. Aldunya, source of the gods and Glimmer, protector of all life in the desert. Sadik tried to peer through the darkness, hoping to witness the struggle firsthand, but there was nothing to be seen. A few hints of movement. A subtle roar. The distances were too vast.

He could only imagine how horrific the struggle had become. Aldunya has been infested down to the soft bark. She had leaked an ocean of pus and rot upon the pantheon. If left alone, the plague always festered its environment into twisted shapes and eerie landscapes. The infected became something other than human—putrefied voices, blistered anatomy. Sadik imagined an army of hideous creatures, tearing their way through roots and bark. A shudder passed along his spine.

There was nothing to be done. Whatever was occurring down in the Foundations, it was beyond their reach. All they could do was watch.

Everything was hopeless. Even if the Sons found victory today, the tree of life would fall. There would be no more gods, no more Glimmer. The city would not survive without her.

Sadik marched across the bridge. He barely felt the metal beneath his feet, barely noticed the rain of water upon his face. When he reached the corridor where the Sons had gathered, Amira raised a hand in greeting, attempting to pull him into a ring of officers. He walked past her. He ignored the stares of his men. He focused on the weight of his sword.

Everything was hopeless. The gods had failed their duty. The Demokrats had failed their promises. He had failed to keep the barbarians from the city walls. In fact, he had welcomed them inside. A lifetime of duty betrayed in a moment of desperation.

Failure. Weakness. Decay.

He marched down the corridor. He recognized the bricks on the walls, the cracked stone tiles and old torch sconces. He knew this place. In a life that already seemed distant, he had walked this path before.

There was no relief. There would never be hope again. The world was dying, and it had no place for him any longer.

All he could do was give one last roar of defiance.

With sword in hand, armor on his back, and a gentle light from his tattoos, Sadik entered the palace of Kohav Yaran, where he had served most of his life.

He would not leave it alive.